


Call Me Faustus

by chaletian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s04e02 117, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/pseuds/chaletian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles does not have to sell either body or soul in an angst-ridden transaction of doom in order to pay medical bills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Faustus

Stiles is totally aware that in a properly organised world, he would be pimping himself out right about now in a desperate bid to earn the money to pay off the medical bills incurred at Eichen House, since there appears to be no such thing as a “hey, not actually crazy; in fact – funny story – possessed by this thing called a nogitsune” rebate. His tragic, angsty little heart would be tearing itself apart trying to balance being a stand-up kid (omg lol, have you even seen his life?), and he’d maybe like be randomly crying in the locker room or something, and then his True Love would, like, see his pain and heal him with her vagina. Or his dick. Stiles is equal opportunity. Just, if Danny wanted to heal Stiles with his dick, Stiles would not be complaining. But Malia’s good too. Stiles is down with some vagina healing. Not that he thinks Malia is currently trying to heal him with her vagina or anything.

Or maybe Derek would shyly offer him the money in grateful recompense for all the crap Stiles has gone through for him. Except Derek’s head would explode trying to actively bring niceness into the world. Derek’s like the anti-nice. Not Derek himself, per se; even Stiles can tell the guy’s kind of trying not to be a douche (trying and usually failing is all he’s saying, ok?). But, it’s like matter and anti-matter. Or a black hole. Yeah, maybe that. Derek’s a niceness black hole, it just gets all sucked up and he’s left with betrayal and despair and dead people all around him. Plus, heist, so the Hales are now presumably as tragically impoverished as the Stilinskis, and HA at the idea of either Peter or Derek doing something normal like work that produces an actual revenue stream.

Other possibilities: Stiles mopes around angsting about his dad being dragged off to debtors’ jail (is that even a thing? Must google) and creepy Mr trying-to-get-his-dad-fired-whilst-being-shitty-absent-father-to-Scott McCall asks him what’s up and says he’s got something that can help, IN HIS PANTS. Actually, Stiles’ imagination might be the creepy one here. He’s never actually known Scott’s dad bad-touch anyone. Alternative: same plot, lead role take by actual, unmistakably bad-touching creep-features Peter Hale, who would totally go for that kind of thing. Stiles is pretty sure Peter’s found all sorts of solutions to life’s problems IN HIS PANTS. Except, see above re heist. (OMG SERIOUSLY HEIST. Stiles feels kind of bad for Derek, who’s obviously had way too much taken away from him and cannot deal with it at all, but taken from a Peter perspective, the whole thing is kind of hilarious.)

Last-ditch effort: Stiles tries to magic the money into existence with actual magic, and ends up selling his soul to the devil. It’s a thing, ok. It happens. Possibly not in real life, but Stiles’ real life contains werewolves and nogitsunes and banshees and basically all the crazy shit, so he’s not ruling out Faust being based on a true story.

These are all ridiculous routes that Stiles might take, living as he is his ridiculous life. However – camping (in Mexico) lies to the contrary – he has actually, maybe, learnt something from the last year or so. He has grown. Matured. Come of age. So, after Derek is back to being an adult and the dust has settled, Stiles sidles into the kitchen, inspects his dad’s food choices, and says, “Hey, Dad.”

“Son,” says the Sheriff.

Stiles slides into a chair and drums his fingers on the table. The Sheriff raises an eyebrow.

“So, I saw the bills,” says Stiles. “From Eichen House. And I thought, y’know, if they’re a problem, I could help. I could get a job.”

The Sheriff pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and watches Stiles for a moment. “Well, that’s good of you to offer, Stiles, but I’m pretty sure I would be negligent in my duties to the community if I let you loose on the workplaces of Beacon Hills at this early stage.”

“I would be an asset, an absolute asset, to anyone who hired me,” says Stiles, because IT IS TRUE GODDAMMIT.

“That’s as maybe,” says his dad, possibly unimpressed. “But we’re OK. I can afford to keep you in t-shirts and gas a little while longer.”

Stiles picks up the drumming. “Yeah, but Dad, it’s not just t-shirts and gas. And I know- I remember, that the bills are always stressful. I don’t want you to have to worry about that.”

The Sheriff puts his hand over Stiles’, stills his fingers. “I promise it’s fine,” he says, voice serious. “I promise, Stiles. The insurance covered most of it. I got a late notice because I’ve been busy and it slipped my mind, OK?”

“Soooo, we’re not going to have live in a gutter and eat cat food while I prostitute myself for the good of the Stilinskis?” asks Stiles.

The Sheriff rolls his eyes, retrieves his hand, and takes his plate over to the sink. “You are an idiot, son,” he says. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.”

Stiles leans back in his chair, contented. He’s totally not ruling out, one day, in different circumstances, having to pimp himself out and be healed by vagina and/or dick, or doing a little quid pro quo IN HIS PANTS with a perv, or entering into a misguided Faustian pact, but today is not that day.

“Back atcha, Dad,” he says.

 

FIN


End file.
